


baby i just want you to be mine

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Big Brothers, Brother/Brother Incest, Cock Warming, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Drama, Face-Sitting, Filming, Fingerfucking, Foster Care, Grooming, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Multiple Partners, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Past Underage Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Sloppy Seconds, Some daddy kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, big brother kink whoops, but plz give mine a chance, i know the original works tag is over-saturated with fucked up porn, thank you, they were foster brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Right, so Matt hasn't fucked his little brothers in two years. He's fuckingoverthis now.Doesn't matter if he can barely fuck other people anymore. Doesn't matter if he's never satisfied. Doesn't matter that he hates beingdaddy, hates beingsirwhen all he wants is to be abig brotheragain.But he's over it, seriously.Doesn't matter if his little brother Mel keeps fucking other boys, never gets his sweet little pussy eaten like he wants it to be. Doesn't matter if his baby brother Asher has anew boyfriend, who obviously can't fuck him right, who obviously can't give him what hewants, 'cause baby only wants big brother's cock, all the time, all the time—Matt is over it. Seriously.(Except he's not.)





	1. coral and gold

**Author's Note:**

> hi yes i wrote filth for my friend what the FUCK is up

This shit should turn him on.

The pretty coral-red lips, the sandy brown skin, the _hot-hot-hot_ tight cunt. Pretty girl without a name, pretty girl with the black hair and the vanity-wide eyes, red candy contact lenses and sweet sanity-savaged smile, _please daddy please—_

This shit should fuck Matt up on his insides, right? He should get needy-desperate, dig bruises into this pretty girl's hips, fuck her thighs up with his nails and his scratches, should make her cry and break her apart, 'cause she's such a _good little girl_ for him, isn't she—

But it's _not enough, not enough_ , is it?

It's fucked up, fucked up, _he's_ fucked up, but it's not enough, not enough, _never fucking enough._

 _Daddy_ is nice, when he gets to be that—and he can be nice or rough as anyone could want him to be, he _likes_ doing it, likes setting them off, but it doesn't really make him lose his mind, now, does it?

 **(** there's only two people who really do that for him. **)**

Yeah, he can be _Daddy_ , he can be _Sir_ —give these pillow princesses and feisty power twinks what they want, he'll give it to them, sure—

And they almost never let him come in them, not like _they_ did—he's ruined for anyone, really, spoiled, now that he's gotta use a condom, fucking _ruined_ for anyone else. These pretty girls and boys and kids need him to wrap up so he _does_ , or they're like _this one_ , this pretty coral girl who squeals that she forgot 'bout her birth control, _please daddy come on her tummy instead please just in case please—_

And he almost fucking regrets it, almost doesn't listen, but he comes over her belly in thick white stripes, striking against her skin, and she gives him a wild shark grin for it, paws at his jacket looking for cigarettes that he doesn't smoke.

 **(** gets her grimy little tiny hands on his e-cig, though, and huffs smoke into his eyes when she asks him, with that wild grin, with those sin-red eyes, _so who is it that you’d rather fuck, huh baby?_ _givin’ me a grouchy look like that the whole time. miss someone?_

and matt—rolls his eyes, he has to. grabs it from her hand and says _no one, no one_ right through his teeth. **)**

—

Matt misses them the _normal_ amount. Has pictures of them on his phone, yeah, of his brothers—his foster brothers, living in the same house ‘til Matt moved out and left them behind.

He’s got pictures, yeah.

Asher, with the pretty heart-shaped face and the big eyes, a shade of amber so bright that they look _gold_ in his dreams. He's cute, real cute, everyone can admit that—tiny and skinny, his hair carefully taken care of, pretty dreads piled high on his head sometimes, or drifting 'round his shoulders—hair turning white from a genetic defect but it just makes him look—mystical. Pretty.

Pictures of Asher in Matt’s favorite sweatshirts, hanging off his little shoulders, showing off how tiny his neck is. Pictures of Asher with his sweet little mouth wrapped around the base of Matt’s cock.

 **(** not really _normal_ , mattie. **)**

Matt's _baby brother_ —the youngest. Matt didn't fuck him 'til he was 16, fucking _waited_ , even when Asher begged him to before, said it wasn’t _fair_ that Mel got to be fucked first ‘cause he was older—

Except, no, he's over that now. Not that kinda man anymore. Not so disgusting, tryna redeem himself.

Asher isn't his real brother, nah, not biologically—people have mistaken it though, maybe 'cause him and Matt are both black, both got a wild smile, but Matt doesn't really look anything like him. Too big. Too tall.

Could snap Ash in half if he tried.

But—no. That's not the shit he should think about.

Asher used to steal Matt's glasses, when they lived together. Tease him with that bright white smile, sassy mouth, divine mouth, wrapped around his cock, sunk all the way down whenever Matt picked him up from school, _this'll make you drive better, right big brother? Right?_

Matt was fucking sick as a teenager.

But, yeah, whatever, he fucked his pretty little foster brother. Shit happens. He's not gonna do it again.

 **(** did it every day for a good year or so, fucked both his little brothers _up_ , made them beg for his cock and his come, made them _scream_ when their foster parents were out not caring—

he took care of them. **)**

He’s got pictures of Mel, too, of course. His little brother is such a slut for the camera, cute little attention whore.

Liked picking pretty clothes and convinced Asher into it too— _normal pictures_ , yeah, Matt’s got photos of Mel giving a peace sign to the camera, Asher pressed into his side with his arm thrown over the smaller kid’s shoulders—Mel’s in that floral crop top he liked so much, the kind that shows off the cinnamon skin of his tummy, the pretty little stud piercings he got on his hips one night when he snuck out.

It’s the top he liked to wear skirts with, show his legs off with, Matt’s bites and bruise-marks left all over his thighs, easy to flip up and bend him over, push his panties aside and push _in in in_ so damn easy—

But no, all Matt’s got are _normal photos_ of his little brother and baby brother. Normal, like Mel with his wavy black hair falling into his sparkle-excited eyes, his mouth spread in a big toothy grin.

 **(** —his long pretty fingers tucked inside his cunt, spreading himself open, matt’s sticky come leaking out of his red used-up hole, brown eyes wild with want and _please please please big brother? can baby brother lick it out of me? i need it, need it so bad_ — **)**

Normal photos of Asher tucked into Mel’s side with his own peace sign, smiling wide, all beautiful.

 **(** _—please, please big brother, let me eat mellie out? i miss how he tastes, i wanna taste you in him too, please_ — **)**

Yeah, so. He’s deleted hundreds ( _actual fucking hundreds_ ) of photos ( _not really, not really, there’s a secret little drive he’s got somewhere, hanging ‘round with evidence of them debauched in every way, doesn’t he got that?_ ) and Matt doesn’t fucking _need those_.

 **(** sometimes he fucks someone and _it isn’t enough_.

red-coral girl was pretty enough and looked like mel enough to make him come, wild grins and brown skin and pretty ocean-wave hair and all, but—sometimes matt’s gotta hide out in the bathroom after fucking someone _mediocre_ , jerk off to the few pictures he _still_ hasn’t deleted from his phone, ‘cause he’s filthy, filthy, _needs them, needs baby brother and little brother_ —

nothing is _ever enough_.

the point is, he’s fucked. **)**

Matt hasn't fucked his little brothers in two years. He's fucking _over_ this now.

—

After Matt left for college he didn’t meet Asher and Mel outside of—some phone calls. FaceTime. Saw their pretty smiles again, nothing more than a _how you doing, Matt? how’s the weather, Mattie?_

Always _Matt, Matt, Matthias, Mattie_ —never what he really is to them. Was to them.

 **(** he wants asher’s pretty lips to say it, sink his mouth down around the word like he would to a lollipop, like he would to matt’s cock. wants to hear mel’s voice, loud-loud always so _loud_ , raspy and breaking apart, wants to _know it, be it, live it_ —

but they don’t call him _big brother_ anymore. **)**

He doesn’t remember how they taste anymore, but that’s something he never should’ve known in the first place.

—but it’s still information he _knows_ , has stuck in his brainwaves and neurons. He _knows_ how much Mel loves to be eaten out, how much he loves settling down on his baby brother’s face, loves letting Asher lick him out ‘til he’s _shaking, shaking_ apart, riding baby’s face and never ever letting him breathe ‘cause _that’s your place, baby brother, you do what your big brothers want, so eat his pussy out real good, okay baby?_

He _knows_ how Asher loves to be made like he’s so small, used and fucked whenever his big brothers want him to be, loves being told that his cunt belongs to _Matt_ , that everything he is belongs to _Matt_ because that’s what the baby does, baby gives up _everything_ for his big brother—

Matt’s never gonna forget. But he sure can _pretend_ none of it ever happened.

—that’s what _they_ do, after all.

Anyway. The point is—

It’s been _awhile_ since Mel called him. Texted him. Sent him a picture of his pretty face. The last time was—fuck, a couple months ago, where Matt wished Mel _happy Eid_ and Mel sent him back a heart sign and a _thanks mattie!!_ like it didn’t twist Matt’s heart up in the wrong places.

But—the day Matt finally shows up back in their hometown, finally _comes home_ , Mel texts him.

_hey mattie my roommate’s moving out but my lease ain’t up and i need helping pay rent so. stay awhile?_

And Matt is—a good brother, if anything.

He’s not gonna say _no_ to that.


	2. normal childhood

So.

Little brother grew up a little.

Mel’s taller now—when he was 18, the last time Matt saw him, he was barely even eye-level with Matt’s collarbones.

Now he’s eye-level enough to run smack into Matt’s nose.

Matt’s gotta grab the kid to keep him from falling, keep him steady from the hustle-bustle of the airport, wraps his arm around that little waist again— _familiar familiar so goddamn familiar_ —

But—different too.

Mel steps back, laughing a little nervous, a little hysterical. His eyes are the same—sunny honey-brown and bright, but his jawline is sharper, his shoulders broader. Has an undercut now, more piercings in his ears. He’s _taller_. Still looks like _Mel_ , still looks gorgeous, even with the crooked turn of his nose—did he get it broken?—but god, he looks fucking _beautiful_. 

It makes Matt’s fingertips _itch_ , makes his throat dry, makes his chest warm, and still he’s gotta force his _smile_ , ‘cause he’s always gotta smile, right?

 **(** big brother took care of his boys. big brother had to make sure they thought everything was _okay_ , even with his fake, stitched-on smiles, _mr. and mrs. new parents will be back home soon, really, really—_ **)**

Mel shuffles a little, twists out of Matt’s grip, _too far away_ —before he straightens his back up. He’s lost a lot of his softness, a lot of his curves, is lankier now, but his hips still look just as nice for Matt to slip his hands against.

Being on T is doing good for him. Mel looks real comfortable in his skin—it’s nice.

“Hey Mattie!” He’s smiling again, bright and manic, like Matt taught him, reaching down to try to pick up one of Matt’s bags. “Welcome home!”

“Good to be back,” Matt rasps out, tries to keep his mouth in a smirk—fuck, is he breathless?—and Mel’s grin goes a little crooked, a little mischievous. 

“Sure took some time off from us two. Was your vacation good?”

“I—” Matt frowns, _fuck_ , his face is breaking, and that’s—the most important thing he’s got, yeah? A face, a confidence, a smile that people wanna trust. “I wasn’t on vacation from _you two_ , Mel.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Mel hefts one of Matt’s duffle bags over his shoulder. “C’mon! Airport parking is expensive so I didn’t buy it so we gotta make sure the Civic didn’t get towed—”

—Yeah, that’s Mel. Matt sighs a little, chuckles a little. “Didn’t you crash that thing?”

“Fuck off, it’s okay!” But Mel turns back to him, giggles a little. “—I missed your stupid face, know?”

His heart skips a beat or several, his throat close-clenches tight. _Missed my stupid mouth too, little brother?_

And here comes back the stitched-on, sick-shitty smirk, greased across Matt’s mouth like oil on the ocean, like honey in a sticky-trap. “I’m just glad your face isn’t as nightmarish as I remembered.”

Mel whirls around, pouts at him. Matt wants to bite that lip so hard it bleeds, bend his cute little brother over his knee and spank the kid ‘til he _knows his place_ and stops being _bratty_ but— _no_ , that’s not what Matt _does_ anymore.

“Oh, _shut up,_ Matthias!”

This is—normal. Normal brother behavior.

Normal. Right. _Normal_.

—

Mel’s _a crazy fuckin’ driver_. Matt doesn’t expect that to have changed in these past two years. So Matt pickpockets his car keys before he even tries.

 **(** tried his goddamn _damndest_ , kept himself in _check,_ kept himself from squeezing mel’s ass when he slipped his hand into his back pocket, felt his warmth— **)**

It’s cute, to watch the kid get all flustered about it. The way he gets all wild-eyed and _offended_ when Matt spirals the keys around his fingers, when he raises his hand high in the air to keep Mel from getting at them. “I’m driving, Mellie.”

“That’s not fuckin’ _fair_!” Mel tries to get on his tiptoes but it’s not enough—it lets his shirt ride up, though, shows off the tiniest strip of brown skin that makes Matt’s stomach clench. “It’s _my_ car! Gimme those—”

“ _You_ can't have these,” Matt drawls, feeling his own sticky smirk cling to his lips. “Sorry, little brother.”

— _fuck_.

Mel pauses, eyes going _wide_ , dark fringe lashes fluttering. Matt’s always liked how long and thick Mel’s eyelashes are. “—what?”

Fuck. _Fuck_!

Matt tries to shrug his shoulders as coolly and as calmly as he can.

**( __**_little brother likes to ride his cock, is bratty and intense, loves pain and loves having their baby brother lick matt’s come out of his messy little cunt—_ **)**

—so Matt exhales. His breath sounds rattled, like loose rusty nails are knocking around in his throat. “ _I’m_ driving, Mel.”

Mel blinks up at him, shaken. His cheeks are flushed, he looks like _honey_ , looks like sunshine, and Matt wants to swallow him whole ‘til his throat closes with sticky, burn alive in his arms. 

Mel opens the door to shotgun, slams it when he shuts it as he gets inside the car. Doesn’t look back when Matt does the same.

So Matt—sighs. Drums his fingers against the steering. “So what’s your address?”

Mel huffs and side-eyes him. “ _That’s_ why you should let me drive.” But he brings his legs ( _long long legs, the kind matt could spend days figuring out things to do with—_ ) up to his chest, tucks his chin on top of his knees. Looks fragile for a bit, looks breakable in a way that makes Matt wanna break him himself.

But he gives Matt the address without much trouble, so— 

That’s _something_.

The drive is just—awkward. Gonna be awkward. Matt made it awkward.

“So,” Matt tries, smiling again, choking again, when he starts up the car. “You talk to Asher lately?”

—he’s gonna suffocate. Suffocate in this boiling stale car air, choke on his own shitty words, on the rusty nails in his throat.

But Mel— _thank god, thank god_ —he sits up straight, gives Matt a _look_ and gets all animated and bright-red-angry when he talks. “No! Asher’s too busy hangin’ out with his _boyfriend_.”

Mel spits the word out, hot and burning like sulfuric acid, like he's sloshed some deadly chemicals down the front of Matt's chest as though he threw a milkshake cup at him in rage, expect it's a shake full of acid and it's melting Matt's skin off, quickly, quickly, like he's gonna tear him apart and corrode every molecule in his body with the rage.

Or. Whatever. 

But it bubbles in Matt's stomach, rageful and acidifying, and Matt tries not to lurch the car, tries to keep the fact that he's a better driver than Mel on _track_. “What?”

“A boyfriend,” Mel says again, his voice a grumble. “ _Ryan_. He's a tool.”

“A tool?”

“But not as useful. If you wanted to return him to Home Depot they'd tell you he's too broken.”

Matt barks out a laugh, tries to keep his nails from digging into the steering. “Sounds like you don't like him.”

“‘Cause—!” Mel huffs, turns to look at Matt and crosses his legs, crosses his arms in the seat. “‘Cause I don't! Asher's just trying too fuckin' hard.”

“What'd'you mean?”

“I mean is—” Mel lets out another sigh of annoyance. “He looks like you! Ryan, he looks like you.” Mel squints, and yelps when Matt brakes suddenly at a redlight. “Pay attention to the road, man!” 

“Looks like me?”

“Yeah. Big and tall and black, I guess. Wears the same shape glasses as you, so I guess that helps.” Mel makes another aggravated noise, and Matt—has to _agree_ , 'cause the thought of Asher, Asher, his baby brother—

In some other man's arms. Holding hands with him. Kissing him. Sinking to his pretty little knees and sucking his cock. Getting _fucked_ by him.

 **(** no, no, no, asher wouldn't ever be satisfied with that, asher _lives_ for his big brother's cock, don't he? baby brother just wants to _please_ , and trying to replace him—replace _matt—_ is just some desperate attempt at, at, at— **)**

Mel pipes up again. “Yeah, that pisses you off, right? Believe me, the last boyfriend he had? Looked like me.”

Matt laughs again, cold and harsh. “Yeah? Like you?” _Just as pretty as you? Just as feisty and solar? Just as destructive?_

“Mmhmm! He was Indian and could pick him up and—” Mel growls. It's almost cute, but Matt wants to tear something apart with his teeth, so he's not feeling so charitable. “His arms were buffer. Which isn't—whatever! And his name was Raj!” Mel throws his hands in the air, knocks them against the ceiling of the car. “His name was Rajveer but he asked to be called fuckin' _Raj_. And he pissed on me for speaking Hyderabadi Urdu to the nice lady who works at the flowershop with me. And then Asher broke up with him, thank god, but he went _straight_ to fuckin’— _Ryan_! With all the personality of a cardboard box but the edges aren’t even serrated in a decent way.” 

Mel sighs, before he continues on with his motor mouth, which, oddly enough, encourages Matt to _keep_ pressing down on the accelerator half-recklessly. “But Ash doesn’t know you’re back, so once he finds out he’s probably gonna make us do a whole _meet the family_ dinner, and I’m gonna have to feed Ry-Ry’s stupid face again—dude, Mattie, do you need some water or something?”

Matt barks out another laugh, wolfish and rageful. “I’m fine. I’m _fine_.”

“You sure ‘bout that— _Mattie don’t pass that light I don’t need a ticket on my car again_ —” 

—

Here’s a couple of things about Matt, and about Asher, and about Mel, sometimes.

Matt never used to tell them he loved them.

Maybe he should've. Maybe he should've said something, about how his self-control turned to ash when Mel fluttered his eyelashes at him, about how his restraint shattered like glass whenever Asher opened his mouth up for him.

Maybe he broke them. He's playing himself off as being cracked and splintered, but he—he _broke them_ , didn't he? Used to hold them both down. Used to bring them up, knock them down, fuck them up, make them _drown_ in all the brotherly love he had for them. 

And, and with Asher, it was always a little too far, wasn’t it?

He’d lick the tears off Asher's face, watch the way his tiny shoulders shuddered and the way he splintered _apart_. His _precious, perfect_ baby brother, who would have nightmares, so many _nightmares_. 

They—they're foster kids. Asher didn't come from a good home situation, not at all, it's to be _expected_ —but god, the nightmares.

He'd break apart at night, with his pretty tiny fingers reaching for Matt, coming into his room at night. Asher was a kid, Asher was _just a kid_ , and Matt was only a little older—he was a kid too, right?

So maybe he taught Asher a few things on how to deal with his panic. A few things too many.

Asher had nightmares. Used to crawl into either Matt or Mel's bed—usually Mel, since they shared a room, but sometimes Ash would look for his oldest brother, _needed Matt_ , craved him so desperate.

And thinking back on it, it makes Matt's palms a little sweaty, doesn't it? Doesn't it make his teeth whistle with the _you're fucked up, Matthias, you're a monster_ and the guilt-treason of his own mightless mind? Isn't that what it does? _Right_?

But Matt, Matt, he's the oldest brother. He's supposed to take care of them. And Asher was the baby.

When Asher was—15-ish, whatever, in his pyjamas, with the slips of his tiny tank top falling off his shoulders, sleeping shorts that show off too much of his thighs—he crawled into Matt's bed. Pressed up against his side, dark eyelashes fluttering, big eyes filled with tears.

_Big brother, please take care of me?_

And Matt—Matt, god, Matt was pretty fucked up at 18, wasn't he?

Asher at that age was extra tiny, extra shaky, so Matt said he wouldn't fuck him— _not 'til you're sixteen, baby brother_ —and he stuck to that, really, really.

But Asher would come into his room at night _sobbing_ from the nightmares. Shattering apart like glasses tumbling to the floor. Broken and splintering, porcelain tremor and gold-line sutures.

And Asher—is _beautiful_ , really, not that Matt has ever told him that.

No. That's not what he did.

Asher's always had a pretty mouth, the kind that wraps 'round lollipops so sweet and pretty—that _cliché, cliché_ innocence appeal, with the bright innocent heart eyes and smart-sassy mouth, sweetness and sour, sugar-coated candy lips all shiny with the gloss he stole from their foster mom. 

The kind that's all _sticky-slick_ against the base of Matt's cock, leaving that sheen over his skin—that _hot-hot-hot_ wet mouth, with those big golden eyes looking up at him, spit and precome dripping down his little chin all _filthy_ , shiny 'gainst that dark skin—

And Asher's always been _pretty, pretty_ —even when he cries, _especially_ when he cries, with the big-big eyes and shaking pouty lips, he's pretty— _will this make me feel better, big brother?_

_Yeah, baby brother, just take my cock down like that, you'll feel so much better._

So Asher does, so Asher _did_ —take Matt's cock, no gag reflex, bless him, he was an _angel_ —his lips stretched so _wide_ 'round his girth, and Matt's a big guy, even when he was a teen, he was pretty big—

And god, Asher was _tiny_. He could see the bulge in Asher's throat if he looked, could see how Asher's mouth was stuffed fucking _full_ of his cock.

So that's what Asher learned to do, whenever he had nightmares. Crawl into _big brother's_ bed and sink his mouth all the way down. Did it whenever he was upset about school being too hard, whenever he came home crying ‘cause some _fucker_ said something bad to him. He'd beg for it, sometimes, _please please please big brother I need to do it, I need to make it good—_

And he'd always be so goddamn _good_. Eyes fluttering shut, full of bliss, and he'd swallow when Matt came down his throat, took every single fucking drop.

Baby boy's got a throat like _magic_.

And Asher would lean back and give the brightest smile at him, shimmery and bright, his voice absolutely ravaged, absolutely ruined, _thank you big brother._

It'd make Matt hard all over again.

Sometimes Asher got so into it, so _turned on_ , he reached down to finger himself. All desperate and frantic with his eyelashes casting shadows on his full cheeks and his fingers dipping in and out of himself frantically, soaking wet and squelching 'cause _baby brother is so good, so wet, so fucking horny just at the sight of big brother's cock, yeah?_

It was cute, really. Matt loved that shit.

 **(** —he _still_ loves that shit. _nobody_ can suck his cock like baby brother did, nobody can deepthroat like that. _nobody_ loves it as much as asher, makes it as good as matt's baby brother does it.

matt misses it, fucking _misses it._ **)**

And Asher just—got accustomed to it. Sucked Matt's cock every night to help himself go to sleep, dreamless and warm. Good little cockwarmer. Slutty baby brother. 

And—that wasn't fair, right? That Matt got to come and Mel didn't? Asher was the _baby_ , after all, had to be good to both his older brothers.

So Matt made Asher do it for Mel, too.

It was nice, it was _hot_ —he'd put Mel down to straddle Asher's face, his pretty thighs a little shaky, his mouth in a pout, _Mattie I don't wanna suffocate Ash_ —

But he learned the point once Asher started to lick him out real good, once Asher got the hang of making Mel come with his tongue and his pretty tiny fingers pushing inside him, too, ‘til Mel was _shaking_ and crying and screaming apart.

—and Mel got addicted to it. _Asher_ got addicted to it. Baby boy made both his big brothers come at least twice every night, just with his mouth. Learned to _love_ eating Matt’s come out of Mel’s used-up, sore pussy, too. 

_You’ll fuck me like that on my birthday, right, big brother?_

And Matt promised him that, _of course_.

But Matt never really told either of his brothers that he loved them. Thought they were beautiful, gorgeous. 

Just used their bodies, used them up, and he left. Left for _years_.

And. Now he’s back in town. Mel’s _changed_ , grown even more beautiful. Asher’s probably changed, too, grown up lovely like Mel did, but now Asher has a _boyfriend_ and it makes the back of Matt’s throat itch and bubble with acidity.

‘Cause Asher wanted love, and Matt didn’t give it to him. That wasn’t love.

So. That’s a few things about the household they used to have. 

**(** matt wasn’t a very good big brother. **)**


	3. dinner party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my friend helped me write this chapter bless her so much  
> here have more fuckin DRAMA

Mel, like always, is a _little fucking shit_.

A little shit, with his mouth upturned in a shitty fake smile. Short shorts to show off _long_ legs and a pink flannel tied ‘round his waist where Matt _can’t-won’t_ put his arm, and leather jacket on top like usual. Mel looks nice, he always looks nice, likes picking pretty clothes—but that’s not the point, ‘cause Mel _told_ Matt that he was taking him to meet the sweet lady who worked at the flower shop with him.

—That is not where Mel takes him, evidently.

“C’mon!” Mel’s got his arms across his chest, looking up at Matt through his lashes. “Asher would love to see you!”

“He hasn’t talked to me in _two years_ , Mellie,” Matt deadpans.

Well, it’s not _exactly_ true—Asher’s called him sometimes, for shit like— _merry Christmas_ , or _hey foster mom isn’t writing us into her will_ , or whatever, but it was always outline-underlined with disdain and bitterness ‘cause _why the fuck did you leave me, big brother?_

So Matt’s only known what Asher’s been doing through Mel. And through stalking Asher’s Instagram, but Ash doesn’t even post about his apparent _boyfriend_ on his fucking Instagram, so—

“Just be nice,” says Mel. “Okay? Just—I’m gonna blow my brains out all over their pretty picture-perfect kitchen counters if I have to listen to their pathetic instances of _flirting_. Again! Do you know how fuckin’ often I’ve had to do that, Mattie?” Mel grabs Matt’s arm, digs his painted nails all sharp into his bicep, enough to make Matt wince. “Neither of them can cook so they make _me_ make dinner. It’s _painful_.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Thought you liked pain, Mellie.”

“—I’m. Gonna be very nice to you and _ignore that_ , you inconsiderate slut.”

—It’s not like Matt is _wrong_. Mel used to beg for big brother to spank his ass black and blue, used to plead to bleed, but whatever.

But Mel is—looking up at him, biting the lipstick off his own lips, “I’m—I’m sorry, Mattie, but please try?”

And. Yeah, god, Matt’s always gonna be so fucking weak for this, for everything about him.

And—he missed Asher, too, to be honest.

So Matt snorts and looks at the pretty-picture-perfect door and says _fine_.

—

So. News story—Asher was actually happy to see Mel! Cute grin tugging at his lips, _nice outfit, Mellie_ , but no contact, no hugs or meaningful looks outside of that half-warm half-fake greeting that’s a little too easy to see through—

And then Asher saw Matt. And, shit, breaking news is that he fuckin’ realized _Matthias_ is back, _big brother_ is in his _brand new shiny home_ with his _brand new shiny boyfriend_.

And Asher—the edges of his mouth strain in that toothache-inducing smile. “Mellie. You didn’t tell me Matthias was back.”

Mel shrugs. He’s got a grin on his face as he moves around the kitchen, manic and a little hysterical as he chirps, “Yeah, he’s my roommate now! I told you I needed one!”

“And I was planning to move back for awhile,” Matt adds, and—wow, Asher’s _really_ trying to rip Matt’s atoms apart with nothing but the force of his glare.

Like _hey, nuclear fusion is the right reaction to seeing your big brother—an authoritative male figure in the presence of your developmental life—who also fucked you and used you as a ego-boosting sex toy_.

—Asher doesn’t _say that_ , but he’s sure glaring at Matt like he means to, and, like, he’s not _wrong_.

Mel glances between the two of them. Matt can _see_ the regret start to dawn in his eyes when he realizes that _maybe_ just _maybe_ sitting in the toolbox by himself for a couple hours would’ve better than taking _Matt_ with him. “—anyway! Where’s Ryan, Ash?”

Hopefully in hell.

“He's not here. He’s getting wine,” Asher snaps out. _Yeah, it’s hard to hold up that angelic façade, isn’t it baby?_

“ _Oh thank god_ ,” says Mel, and it’s so urgent that it forces Matt to crack a grin too—his Mellie’s always been too honest.

“Mel!”

“I’m sorry I don’t want him to tell me about him winning his baseball championship in high school again! Baseball is _stupid_ , Asher! It’s just American cricket and it’s _stupid_!”

Matt snorts. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you tried out for baseball in high school and middle school seven times and never got in.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s _stupid_.”

“Cricket is just really intense golf, Mel,” Asher pipes up.

“And I’m not feeding you tonight! Have fun eating your boyfriend’s unimpressive dick!”

“And you can eat _your_ boyfriend’s dick too—oh wait! You don’t got one! So fuck off!” Asher passes Mel a carrot. “Here, maybe this’ll help.”

Mel rips the carrot out of his hands and pointedly snaps it in half. Asher watches, unimpressed. “You were gonna cut it anyway. For the recipe.” Mel bites a chunk and spits it out. “The recipe called for five carrots. Now we’re gonna starve.”

“Thank _God.”_

Matt can’t help it—seeing his two grown brothers squabble like they’re in middle school again is too fucking funny. He snorts. And _that_ gets Asher to look him in the eye. _Finally_.

Baby brother still looks cute. Still has those big, innocent eyes, thick eyelashes that touch his cheeks when he blinks. His hair’s that snow angel white, longer now, pulled up into a ponytail and still reaching the small of his back. His features are more defined—less baby fat, more delicate and ethereal. He’s cute, but don’t look like a baby no more. He’s beautiful. Fucking _breathtaking_. And some other man gets to look at him, touch him—

Not get the fucking death stare, probably.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, Ash. Didn’t realize being petty was a theme in this house.”

“It _ain’t,”_ Asher snaps. “There’s no _theme_ in the house, Matthias. It’s _normal._ You two just fuck up the flow.”

Normal as in—there’s no big brothers to groom him in this house. Normal as in—he has a boyfriend with degrees on the walls, and shiny black dress shoes by the door.

Yeah. He guesses he _is_ fucking up the flow of normalcy, of _white picket fence and 2.5 kids._ He grins, so sharp it cuts his cheeks. “Shouldn’t you talk to your _older brother_ more respectfully?”

Asher’s lip raises to a _snarl._ “You’re not my older brother. You’re just some _asshole_ who lived with me. You’re just some foster kid who won’t _leave me alone.”_

—Okay, _ouch_. At least Mel tries to get along with him. But looks like baby brother grew up with fangs. This isn’t the sweet, baby-faced brother who sobbed when he left for college.

Mel hisses Asher’s name. Gives him a fiery look that’s probably meant to convey _shut the fuck up._ Asher huffs and looks away from Matt. “We’re eating vegetarian. You won’t like it. You should leave and find something else to eat. Go maul a cow for dinner or something, I dunno.” He glances up at Mel from the cutting board. “You can leave too, since you two get along so well.”

There’s a loud click and clang of pans as Mel gets them out of the cabinets and turns on the stovetop fan, loud and static-humming. “Actually! I was texting Ryan ‘bout this—’cause he’s _such a caring boyfriend, right Asher?_ Calls me when he wants to check up on you! And he was _really_ lookin’ forward to meeting Matt!” Mel practically snatches the cutting board away from Asher, drags it along the counter with a _screech_ and smiles at him with all his punch-crooked teeth. “And—since you’re all _normal and everything_ , you don’t wanna disappoint Ryan, right? Don’t wanna explain to him _why_ he can’t meet your older brother?” Mel pokes Asher on the tip of his nose. “‘Cause you don’t wanna tell your precious boyfriend—who, y’know, _looks like Mattie_ —that you used to beg for your big brother’s cock every day. Right?”

And—Jesus, the look on Asher’s _face_ —but it all gets cut off with the sound of the front door opening, ‘cause—right. _Ryan’s_ home.

Mel claps his hands together. “Okay! Get out of my kitchen now ‘cause this is too much drama for me to focus.”

Asher pushes himself off of the counter and storms out—Matt thinks to follow but hears Asher ask Ryan to have a talk. Alone. The front door slams closed again and—well, they shouldn’t have left the window open if they didn’t want Matt to hear.

He gets as close as he can to the window without exposing himself. Asher’s—angry, frantic, choked up. “I don’t want them to be here, Ry—”

Ryan’s voice is deeper than Matt’s, more smooth and soothing, especially now. “I thought you’d like it? Mel said—”

“There’s a _reason_ why you never met Matthias. Why I don’t even _talk_ about him.”

Matt’s stomach drops. Ryan didn’t even know Matthias _existed._ Asher’s, what, ashamed of him? Of his big brother? _You used him up and left him broken,_ he reminds himself. _You fucked up, fucked up, fucked up!_

“I can ask him to leave,” Ryan tries. “Do you want me to?” Matt risks a look outside and—yeah. Ryan looks like him. Tall, broad, buff, black, with glasses. He’s rubbing Asher’s arms and shoulders, trying to get him to stop _crying—_ Jesus they made him _cry._

_Always breaking, always hurting, aren’t you, Matthias?_

He wants to hold him. Wants to cradle his small, breakable body in his arms, swallow up his sadness, kiss away his tears—what he never did when they were kids. What Asher never got from him.

But some man, with big hands and a patient smile, is doing that for him.

Asher drags in a shaking breath. “Would you be mad if I asked you to?”

“Of course not, love. But,” Ryan cups his face and leans in, and it sends bleach down his trachea, into his stomach where the butterflies for his baby brother live. “I think it’d be a good idea for you to _try_ mending things. I’m not going to force you, Ash, it’s your decision.”

And Matt can’t take any more. He doesn’t care if he’s thrown out, if the cops are called to drag his ass away from this gleaming perfect house. He storms back into the kitchen and glares at Mel. “Well, you made him cry.”

Mel rolls his eyes. “Ash’s always crying.”

“You shouldn’t make your baby brother _cry like that, Mel.”_

And that—makes Mel look up from his cooking, flinch just a little at the word. But he tries to hide it, tries to act tough like always. “You heard him. We’re not his brothers. We’re just some assholes who ruin his life. Remember?”

“He doesn’t mean that—”

“How would you know? You haven’t talked to him in years, Matt. You don’t know him anymore.”

Before Matt can say anything to that, there’s someone clearing his throat behind him. He turns to see perfect, precious Ryan. And yeah, he looks like Matt more now that he can see his face. His glasses are nicer, though, more expensive, the frames almost thick enough to hide the developing crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He takes care of his facial hair in way Asher probably likes. He’s _clean._

“Matthias, right?” Ryan asks. He reaches out for a handshake. “I’m Ryan. It’s nice to meet you.”

And—shit, pretty perfect _Ryan_ ’s got a strong firm handshake too, makes Matt smile enough to bruise his mouth on his teeth, has to keep himself from digging his nails into Ryan’s palm, has to keep himself from making him _bleed_.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Ryan pulls away and flashes a blinding, white smile. Must’ve had braces as a kid or some shit like that. Or he was born perfect. “Asher never said he had another brother,” says Ryan, and—of fucking _course_ he didn’t.

And all of this, all of this—it’s like the fucking ceiling-stovetop fan screaming in Matt’s head, _he’s better than you, that’s why Ash wants him, so much fuckin’ **better** , normal—_but Ryan’s still giving him that amiable look and it makes Matt wanna wretch.

And Ryan’s all—shiny teeth, sparkle-eyed, _can do no wrong_ kinda guy—“It’s nice to finally find out about you!”

“You said that already.”

There’s a pause here, and Matt knows he made it awkward, fucked it up, but it gives him satisfaction to see pretty Ryan fucking _squirm_ in the tension. Asher’s glaring at Matt—is he _hiding_ behind Ryan? Is Matt someone he has to fucking _hide from now?_ Cower behind a knight in shining armor?

“How’s the food coming, Mel?” Ryan asks. He goes over and pats Mel’s back, looking over his shoulder at the food. “Smells great.”

Matt wants to _break his hand off_ but whatever. From the line of tension in Mel’s shoulders, he guesses Mel wants to, too. But bless his heart, Mel doesn’t assault Mr. Perfect.

But—Asher’s getting out wine glasses, his eyes are still red from crying, and he won’t fucking _look at Matt._ He steps into his space and tries—“Are you okay?” he asks, lowering his voice.

Asher glares at him. “No. I’m never okay around you, Matthias. Just eat the food and leave.”

And, like—the few parts of Matt’s mind that qualify as _rational_ , the parts that say _yeah, that’s a good idea, if you really think you love him then don’t screw him up anymore_ , yeah, those braincells are firing, but—

It’s hard to really listen to those when there’s _Ryan_ who’s taking a pretty-perfect sledgehammer to any sensibility Matt’s got every time he puts his fuckin’ _hands_ around Asher’s waist.

“I’m—” And it hurts his lungs a little, to breathe between these words, it makes the dying butterflies in his guts twitch and shatter, overdosing on all the chloroform he’s got stuck in his throat, but Matt says, “I’m—god, Asher. I’m sorry.”

“—you’re _what_?” And—he’s looking up at Matt with those eyes that look gold more than they look brown. He’s looking at him with tears in his eyes and confusion written in the crease between his eyebrows. It makes Matt’s throat close, makes his fingers remember how it felt to hold Asher’s.

He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. For—everything. Hurting you. Leaving you. I was a _dick.”_

Asher looks in Matt’s eyes, searches them with his own—curious Asher, always looking for _something_ , always hoping to find something better than what’s already there.

Except for now. Because he doesn’t find what he wants. He just shakes his head, takes a step back and says, “That’s not good enough, Matthias.”

He wants to say more, wants to step back into his space and make him _listen._ But here’s _Ryan_ stepping over. “Dinner’s done.” He looks at Matt. “I got some wine, if you want any. Mel sent me a list of booze you like so I just—got a bunch of it for you.”

Asher looks up at him. “You didn’t have to do that—”

“I wanted to.” Ryan smiles at him, and keeps smiling as Asher goes on his tippy toes to give him a kiss on the lips that—lingers. Just a bit too much for public, but a promise for what’s gonna happen later—it makes Matt’s lips fucking burn because he never did kiss either of them, now did he.

Thank God for house husband Ryan and his infinite booze.

—

Ryan has his hand on Asher’s thigh like it’s a goddamn prize and it’s _really_ distracting Matt from answering Ryan’s mundane, useless questions.

“So, Matthias, what do you do for a living?”

Corrupting teenagers, destroying their lives, and coming back to haunt them. “I transferred to a college around here, and I’m doing security on the side.”

The fact Ryan takes the effort to look impressed makes Matt wanna punch him in the face. “Good for you!” he says, like it’s some big accomplishment. Before Matt can snark something out Ryan says, “Asher’s choosing to go to college as well.”

“Oh, he’s choosing? He’s not being forced to with a gun to his head? Thanks for making that distinction. I was worried.” Asher kicks him from under the table. He quirks an eyebrow at him. “What? Your boyfriend is very helpful.”

Asher’s going to strangle him in his sleep. Asher’s going to lean over and stab him in the eye with his fork. He’s gonna rub this vegetarian shit in his eye sockets. He kinda wants it to happen—at least then Asher would touch him.

Ryan laughs awkwardly. “That _was_ a weird way to phrase it. What I meant is—Asher doesn’t _have_ to go to college. I’m more than capable of providing for the both of us.”

“But I _wanna_ go,” Asher mutters.

“That’s why I said you’re _choosing_ to go even though you don’t _have to.”_

Are they having a fight? He glances at Mel who’s eating his food and watching like this is a late night movie. Ryan can _argue?_ He’s _capable?_

“Do they do this every time?” Matt hisses to Mel.

Mel—grins at him like he’s enjoying the chaos, like that’s the only way he can keep himself from bashing his head on the table until his brains seep out of his ears. “Yep. Every time.”

Guess Mr. Perfect ain’t entirely perfect, shiny shoes be damned.

“So, _Ryan_ ,” Matt forces out—and it makes Asher tense up, makes Ryan meet his eyes. “How old are you? Takes some time to be able to get a nice house like this.”

—Mel snickers under his breath, but Matt ignores that. He’s watching how Ryan shifts in his seat, how he glances at Asher only to find him drinking his last drops of wine. Some responsible guy, letting a 19-year-old drink. He doesn’t let Ryan look away from him, watches how he breathes in before answering, “I’m thirty-two.”

Matt—pauses. Yeah. That sounds about right. Crow’s feet by Ryan’s eyes, shiny black shoes to pay Matt’s rent for the month, credit high enough for a house like this.

So Matt downs his glass before speaking again. “Thirty-two.”

“Matthias—” Asher tries to start, but Matt—the laugh that comes out of his throat tastes dark and acidic, mean and trembling.

“Have you ever thought, _hey, maybe I shouldn’t be dating a kid who isn’t even old enough to fucking drink_?” Matt snaps out, feels the little tiny crystal stem of the glass in his hand crack a little. “Have you? You’re ten years older than _me_. How—how old were you when he was _born_ , huh? Thirteen, right?”

Asher’s voice is starting to do that shatterline-breaking thing again, sharp enough to cut inside Matt’s stomach. “Matthias _stop—_ ”

But he can’t, he can’t stop, ‘cause—that’s his _baby brother_ —

“That’s fucked up,” Matt snarls. “Don’tcha think?”

And this _fucker_ leans across the table, steeples his hands and _looks at him_ like he’s one of his fucking patients. “Now,” he starts, patient and _professional._ “I know our relationship is _unconventional_ but I treat him well. I love him, and he loves me.” He glances at Asher, who’s grinding his teeth, trying not to cry. Instead of comforting him he picks up his hand and puts it on the table. “And we’re not dating.”

He’s referring to the diamond ring on his finger.

And it—takes a few seconds to _register_.

There’s tar blocking up Matt’s vocal chords but—Mel’s the one who breaks.

“What?”

“We’re engaged,” Ryan says, matter-of-fact, like that isn’t _fucking crazy_.

Mel’s voice has—a bit of a shake to it, a bit of a tremor. “You’ve—you’ve barely been dating a year. When’d you—I didn’t know—”

Ryan’s got the decency to frown, at least. “We got engaged a month or so ago. Didn’t Asher tell you?”

“ _No_. He didn’t— _you didn’t tell me_.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything about my life,” Asher says stubbornly. He’s staring at the glass like he’s trying to shatter it with just his glower. “It’s whatever, Mel.”

—Mel doesn’t break, that’s not the word. Mel practically _implodes_. “That’s _not whatever!_ When were you gonna tell me that—I’m your—I’m your—”

“My brother?” Asher _laughs,_ venomous and bitter. “Or the guy I see once every few months? Whose best form of communication is _Snapchat?_ ”

“Because you don’t answer my fuckin’ _calls—”_

“Why would I?!” Asher’s voice is rising, and he’s ignoring Ryan’s placating hand on his back. He’s shaking apart. “All you do is tell me how bad my relationship is, how _awful_ my choices are. How _stupid I am_ for everything I do—I can _never_ appease you! You _hate_ me.” He’s standing up from his chair. “I’m trying to be happy for _once in my goddamn life_ and you’re _ruining it_ because you’re miserable!”

And now Mel’s standing up too—he’s taller than Asher, knows it, and even in those shorts he looks intimidating when he’s angry. “You’re not tryna be happy, you’re tryin’ your best not to be _alone_ ‘cause you’re _terrified_ of it.”

“That’s not _true—!”_

“It _is_! You’re pathetic—”

“You’re a dick—”

“ _I deserved to know!”_ Mel’s panting, shaking, bottom lip trying its best not to wobble. “I deserved to know.”

And Asher shakes his head. “You don’t deserve _anything_ from me.” He snatches the plates off from in front of everyone before they can have a say. “Dinner’s done. Have a safe drive home.” And with that he storms to the kitchen.

Ryan’s glaring at Mel. Glaring at Matt. But he nods at both of them. “Have a good night.” And goes to the kitchen, leaving them behind.

Mel scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “That’s not—I know we did a bad thing but I—I—” He sinks back into the chair, and he’s—his shoulders are shaking, he’s biting through his lips so much he’s gonna make them bleed. “M-Mattie, why’d you have to fuck us up like this?”

 _—God_. “Mel—”

“I’m sorry, I just—” And, fuck, it hurts to see Mel’s hands shaking so bad when he pulls his phone out. “I c-can call a cab or something for you, you were drinking, but I can’t—I can’t stay with you tonight, I’m sorry Mattie, I can try again tomorrow—”

Matt has to—breathe in, has to inhale the toxic miasma in the air right now into his glass-shattered lungs. “Go home, Mellie, I’ll—I’ll come by later. Won’t wake you up when I come in.”

Mel’s voice is quiet like it’s never supposed to be. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

Matt covers his eyes with his hand. It shakes, and his vision is a little blurry, not just ‘cause of his shitty eyesight, and he—god, he doesn’t have the _right_ for that, does he? “Yeah. I’ll see you then. Go home, drive safe.”

Mel sniffles, but—at least he listens.

And Matt tries to make his fingers stop shaking.

—

He really needs to leave, he really _should_ leave, but Matt’s got a habit of overstaying his welcome and Matt’s got a habit of fucking his little brothers up, so—here he is.

Asher’s trying to wash dishes in an oversized, over-expensive sink that dwarves him. Everything does that in this house—the entire thing is swallowing his baby brother up. The closer he gets the more he sees Asher’s hands are shaking, he can barely get sponge to plate, and his breath is shaking, hitching like a broken freight train.

“Asher—” and he tries to make his voice soft, soothing enough that Asher doesn’t splinter into a thousand pieces of marble-porcelain-glass, but Asher tenses up so tight that he looks like he’s gonna tear himself apart.

“I told you to leave.”

“I know.” And Matt—shouldn’t touch him, but Asher’s scrubbing ineffectively at the plates and his hands are so shaky Matt thinks he might drop them, so—he rests a hand against Asher’s shoulder as gently as he can. “Hey. I can do that for you.”

“I don’t _need your help_ —”

“No, but you need some rest. Where’s Ryan, anyway?” He’s careful to keep his voice neutral.

“He’s in the shower.” Asher’s—not looking at him, still staring at the sink as water drifts down the drain. It’s the only sound in the room until Asher closes his eyes and says, soft and broken, “Stop it.”

Matt frowns. “Stop what? Ash—”

“Stop pretending you care about me.” His eyes are still closed, but his voice betrays him—shaking, broken. “Please.”

“Hey—hey, Ash, look at me, c’mon.” Matt—stops touching him, ‘cause he really, really doesn’t have the right for that, does he? “C’mon, _look at me_.” Asher doesn’t. “I care about you, I’m not pretending. You can figure it out if I’m pretending.”

“You—Matt, you _fucked me up_.” He scrunches up his eyes and his voice cracks splinters. “I was a _kid._ If you cared, even just a _little bit_ you wouldn’t had _done that.”_

Matt opens his mouth, tries to say _something_ as if anything would help but Asher opens his eyes, turns to him—

Vulnerable, open, nothing that Matt deserves but everything he’s dreamed for. Not like this, though. Not with the tears in his eyes, the shaking of his limbs, like an earthquake’s been stuck in his belly since the day Matt left.

“If you cared,” Asher says, “you wouldn’t have left me all alone.”

“If I didn’t care,” Matt breathes, “then I wouldn’t’ve come back.”

It’s these moments of silents, the breath in between, that the world slows down. Like standing in quicksand, Matt is sinking before Asher’s very eyes, and he can’t be sorry for it, not for one second. In the gaps between sucking in the last bit of air and going under, Matt realizes how beautiful a boy with a broken heart and starlight hair really is. A broken heart is an open heart, and it might just be open enough to let him in.

Matt’s the kinda guy to pick and poke at open sores, never let them scab over, so—

So when Asher doesn’t move away, Matt pushes.

When Asher doesn’t stop him, Matt keeps edging forward.

When Asher lets Matt crowd him up against the counter, low-pitch sniffle leaving his throat with a _please don’t leave me Mattie_ almost so silent it shakes Matt’s bones, then—

Then he can't help but break Asher’s ribs open all over again for this.

 **(** matt’s always _hungry hungry hungry_ for all that bone marrow and blood, wants everything asher’s got to give him, wants his baby brother stuck between his filthy jaws for the rest of his damn life— **)**

“Asher.”

Asher sniffles again, like sinking needles into every one of Matt’s nerves. He doesn’t look up, not until Matt takes his chin and _makes_ him. “ _Asher_. Fuck, I missed you.”

Asher puts his hands on Matt’s wrist— so damn tiny he needs both hands to hold on— and for a moment, Matt thinks it’s to rip his touch away. But— Asher’s making sure he doesn’t move his hand away. That he doesn’t _leave._

And it’s—dizzying, haunting, but it’s so _goddamn easy_ to get Asher up on the countertop, to feel his little waist shiver between Matt’s fingertips when he grazes his nails against the skin, tucks his fingertips inside the waistband of his leggings. He’s _shaking_ , he is, minute and breaking, and Matt—

Breaking things is what he’s good at it. It’s just easy.

Easy to slip his fingers in, to watch the way Asher’s lips part and his shoulders shake. Easy to run his nails along the seam of Asher’s panties, easy to turn his mouth against Asher’s pretty hair and say, “Tell me to stop, Ash.”

It’s so _easy_ , when Asher just keeps looking up at him, wide-eyed and wet-sighed, when the only request he has is a whimpered, “Kiss me, Mattie?”

“You’ll hate me for it,” Matt tries to say, but Ash wasn’t really waiting for an answer, and the counter gives him enough height to kiss Matt.

 **(** right. they’ve never fucking kissed before. **)**

And Asher’s mouth is soft, lets out a breathy little gasp that echoes throughout the insides of Matt’s head, scraping and heaving against his braincase like nails in a blender.

And—and, the thing about Matt, about the fact where he always keeps _wanting, wanting_ , always hungry and nothing is ever _enough_ for him—

He kisses Asher hard enough to bruise his lips, mess up his hair, slips his fingers down so far that he feels the wetness soaking through those panties—

 _Fuck_ , he’s so _sweet_.

“You’re already so wet for me, baby?” It makes Asher whimper, and Matt—

Has to _push at it_ , like he always does, always needs to push further and ruin even more than he’s already done. Greedy for destruction, yeah? Greedy and hungry and starving and insatiable.

So Matt _pushes_.

Pins Asher up 'til his fingers push inside just a slight and—"Fuck, _fuck_ , baby brother, you're still so tight, huh? He doesn't fuck you good enough?"

Asher hiccups and squirms back, bucking on Matt's fingertips and whining in all the deep-ends of his throat, something Matt could drown in. "N-no, Matthias, _Mattie_ , I'm—" He squeals when Matt jerks his fingers up even faster, feels how fuckin' _wet_ he is and the way he's gushing more slick 'round his digits—"Matt! _Matt_ , I can't be your baby brother anymore."

And, and Matt's gotta stop for a second, stop for a lightyear, 'cause—

All he wants is his baby brother back.

"We're _not_ brothers if we do this," Asher hiccups. His eyes are so pretty all wide like that, shiny with tears and tremble, a breaking sandcastle against the current of the running water at the sink and in the rooms above them where the shower water rushes, and Ryan's gonna be back any second, but—

"Asher," Matt says, enough to make his throat hurt and hover with hesitation. " _Asher_." Not his baby brother. "Baby, I'm gonna make you come so hard you forget his fuckin' _name_."

"M-Matt he's upstairs—" But Matt's already two knuckles deep inside Asher and he's gonna fuck him up so damn _nicely_ , won't he?

Matt presses another kiss to Asher’s swollen mouth, against his heave-shaking throat, against the sweat-sour-sweet of his little shoulders. “I know, sweetie, but you’re openin’ up so _pretty_ for me.”

—he does, really, squeezing around Matt’s hand so desperately, his water-wet nails coming up to dig through Matt’s shirt into his shoulders. Matt’s gonna make him soak through his legging if he can _fucking help it_ , gonna push him and push him ‘cause that’s what he does best ain’t it—

“Asher, baby, you’ve gotta tell me.” And it’s so _easy_ to murmur those words against his ear, into his hair, and Matt can feel his poor little—his Asher shake apart just by virtue of his grip, makes something in Matt wanna _break_ and fuck him up right on the dining table where Ryan can come in and see what’s making his _fiance_ scream so loud—“Is your boyfriend this good to you? You gonna get married to _him_? He better be making you come every day if you’re willing to put up with him.”

Asher squirms, his face flushed, his chest heaving. “He—I don’t—” and _god_ , he sounds broken apart, panting and fragile and needy, needing _Matt_ —

“M-Mattie, he’s never made me come—”

Fuck—fuck, of _course_. Matt curls his fingers enough that it makes Asher sob low in his throat, shaking and shivering around his fingers.

Matt is fucking his baby brother, his Asher up all over again, but it’s a goddamn _relief_ to feel him squeeze and gush and come around Matt’s fingers. It makes Asher’s voice go all breathless-high, half-terrified and sobbing, _please please please Mattie please_ —

 **(** and he can still hear the shower water rushing and running, but that doesn’t matter, that doesn’t _matter_ , matt’s gonna make his sweet little  _asher_ come as many times as he can before the water stops flowing and time starts up its ticking again.  **)**

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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